Golden
by Elaine Vivian
Summary: Jack Kelly comes home from war, though not all in one piece.


_1913_  
Katherine let her husband go to war.

_August 1914_  
Six months since she's received a letter.

_December 1914_  
A letter for Christmas. A bit of money. Nothing telling her how he was, not really.

_January 1915-July 1916_  
A few assorted letters, I miss you's, come home soon, I will.

_March 1917_  
A family is reunited.

* * *

Four years. Four long years had passed and Katherine hadn't seen one glance of her husband. No photographs, no gruesome drawings by artists specializing in works of war art. She supposed she should be grateful, seeing as no bad news had come to her. She never received the dreaded telegram that some women like Maria had. And no news was good news, yes?

She knew he was shipping home today. She watched his ship come into port as she stood on the dock with her children, now sixteen and fourteen. Jack had missed so much. She wondered if he thought that they all still looked like they did in the photograph he had. Knowing him, it was the one image ingrained in his brain.

But of course they'd changed. Fashion had changed, surely, in four years. People dressed differently from the semi-Victorian garb they'd worn when they'd first taken that photograph. Their son was growing into a fine young man. Their daughter no longer plaited her hair, no longer wore loose dresses and flat shoes.

Emerald had come to the docks too—Esmeralda Reid and her now three-year-old son Phillip. The boy had never met his father; Emerald hadn't even known she was pregnant until after Darcy and the other men had shipped out. The handsome little boy had his mother's hair, wild and black, and his father's complexion, fair and light.

And while Phillip had never met his father, his father had never met Phillip, either. Emerald remembered when she wrote him and told him. He'd wanted to come home, but of course he couldn't. Letters from both parties were tearstained.

The two mothers watched as a boat carrying a plethora of soldiers came up to port and as the men exited one at a time. They were all cleaned, inspection-ready, just as they had been the day they left. Beautiful, handsome, golden men.

Darcy was spotted first. One could tell that he was looking around for his wife and the child they had together whom he had never met. Emerald yelled for him. He turned his head toward her voices and his eyes welled up with tears. He didn't run, though. He walked swiftly, soldierly up to her and embraced her, throwing his arms around her and holding her to him as tightly as possible.

He felt a tug on his uniform and looked down to see what seemed like his own eyes staring back at him. "Papa?"

Darcy crouched into a squat and put his hand on the little boy's shoulder. It was gargantuan compared to the frame of the boy. "Phillip," Darcy murmured. "My son." He pulled the boy into his arms and the boy let his own arms find their place around his father's neck.

Katherine watched them with a somber happiness, happy that they were together once again, a whole family, but hoping that Jack would disembark soon. Of course, he would eventually, but the sooner the better.

Darcy saw Katherine out of the corner of his eye. He passed the boy to Emerald and walked over to her, embracing her with just as much love as he had his wife. "Katherine," he said, looking at her with joy in his eyes. But it was a sad joy, as if there was a catch to all of them coming home. He hugged her again, and then went back to ship as the last passenger was walking off.

A handsome man in his thirties, dark hair and a little scar on his chin. His head was held high and he walked tall and proud. Golden. But there was something missing from this golden man.

Darcy walked up the gangplank. "Let me help you, Jack. You're not used to that crutch yet, I know. Don't hurt yourself."

Jack shook his head and smiled at his friend. "No, Darcy. I don't need help. I'll get down myself."

He hobbled down with his single leg and crutch, wincing in pain from time to time during the slow journey down. When he slipped, Darcy offered his help again. And Jack, once again, denied it. "I'm learning, Darcy. I ain't fast, but I'm learning."

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he had made it to the dock. It was only at this point that Jack accepted Darcy spotting him, the shift from the slanted plank to the level dock. He was much faster when he was on the level ground.

Katherine looked at him with tears in her eyes. She hadn't known what to expect, except that he'd be a bit older, a bit more worn. He hadn't written her anything about this, she hadn't received anything from the war office telling her that her husband's leg would now be dismembered.

Jack shook hands with some of his compatriots and their families, stopping at the Reids before finally turning to his own family. His eyes were filled with tears at the sight of them. It had been four years, and not a single one of them was the same.

Young David, who'd been only ten when he'd had left, was now fourteen. He was at least as tall has his father, finally growing into his features and becoming far handsomer than Jack had ever even thought himself to be. He was no longer a young boy but a young man. Probably a better man than Jack ever could be.

There was more of a change in Louise. She was sixteen years old now. She was almost the complete spitting image of her mother, save for the hair that was a shade or two darker, curled and pinned like a young woman should have it. Her dress was modest enough, though Jack would've been happier with the neckline a little higher. Her girlish features had turned womanly while he was gone.

But it wasn't just the girl's physical appearance that had changed. His eyes wandered down as he took in his daughter and halted at her left hand. "A ring," he said.

"His name's Jim," she murmured. Her voice had molded into something articulate and elegant. She'd gotten it from her mother, surely. "You'll like him, Father. I know you will. But you don't have to worry, we aren't even planning it yet!" she gushed. "He wants to go to college, to medical school, and I'm going to be a teacher. I've already enrolled in a teaching college. I start in the fall."

He smiled somewhat. "If it's what you want." _If it's what makes you happy._ God knows he couldn't criticize her, considering his own relationship with Katherine had been even more complicated. Besides, he couldn't stop her if he tried—she had too much of her mother's spirit in her.

He turned to Katherine. "I shoulda told you."

She rested her hand on his cheek. "Yes. You should have."

She closed the small space between them and kissed him. He steadied himself with his crutch and let the other caress her waist and pull her close. It was their first kiss in four years. Neither of them had known the touch of another in that long. It was tempting, but they weren't alone. They were in a public place, a familial place, and now was not the time.

A few more short kisses were exchanged between them before his entire family embraced him. He realized that he'd done it. He'd fought in a way and he came for what he said he would.

* * *

They weren't going to do it. The children were in the house, but they could stay quiet. But still, the children were in the house. And how would it be? As good as it was before, when they were both so physically capable? Or difficult, awkward, like it was the first time?

It took getting used to. Their bodies molded together in a different way now for reasons besides his leg. But there was still power in both of them, still a drive to love each other regardless of what obstacles there might be. So they did it, and they let it be awkward and awful but also beautiful and culminating. So many years without a single touch, it was almost like it had never happened before.

There was more to get used to. Thank God that their bedroom was on the first floor of their home. No stairs. There were things he needed help with that were difficult for the both of them. But they did what needed to be done with love, and that was what mattered.

For things that Katherine couldn't do, or things that she just wasn't able to do on any particular day, Darcy came over. He'd left the war unscathed, and he was happy to help. Eventually, there were things that Jack could do on his own, once he got used to the crutch and once his arms gained more strength from all of their use.

Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night screaming. "Nightmares," the doctor told them when they went to see him. "About the war. Living, breathing nightmares that were carried home with him."

Katherine would wake up with him when he screamed—who would be able to not? His screams, frightened and devastated, were loud. They were heartbreaking, heartbroken. They ended in sob sessions. But Katherine was never the one sobbing. She knew that her husband was in pain and she wasn't going to add to it. She would remain strong until her heart couldn't take it anymore.

He was a golden man, even though he did have the nightmares and he didn't have the leg. He was still brave and loving and strong and he did what needed to be done. He watched both of his children graduate from their respective schools. He walked his daughter down the aisle and handed her off to Jim, a better man than he was. He watched as his own son proposed to a sweet girl, Annie, and as he went to medical school a few years after Jim. He watched as David enlisted of his own will with his need to save lives by sacrificing his own, even though he was offered a stateside position. He watched, and he enjoyed, and he lived.

He lived through the war; he saw his family again. His family saw him again. They were reunited. And he lived. That was what mattered. He lived.


End file.
